TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK

I looked up to the clock, five o’clock I counted. Its dials waved at me and digits said something too. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Tick tock of time it was. They’ve witnessed and cremated several insanely happy hours and various poignant days. On some days this tick tock came bundled with hurt along with a pinch of unwelcomed and alienated twelve o'clock thoughts. And in that despicable moment you hated who you were. Or maybe, what you had grown into. This wasn’t what you had written on the back of your notebook at ten o'clock lunch in school many years ago. It wasn’t your face, which you couldn’t recognize after a grueling an hour long gaze into the mirror. Instead, this was the mask of time. This won’t stop chasing you and it won’t leave anyone else either. I look up to the clock once more. This is twelve o’clock again. But don’t be scared. Let me tell you this little episode of a couple of minutes. Some people across this desert have carved beautiful statues. Some are drenched in sweat. Some statues have stain of tears and some are dried by the time. The colors those people had were just grey and black. And the time they had was just a couple of hours. Maybe that wasn’t enough. But look what they’ve created. The glint in your eyes says that you like them and this story a bit. Can you imagine all this? Can you imagine all this as your story and you as the hero? You could be just the same. Inside you I see some dreams have lasted. Some fireworks are still to be played. And after all this tragedy, some friends are still unseen. An alarm has just started ringing somewhere. Maybe it’s your brand new cellphone. It’s eight o’clock. Wake up from this yawning sleep and swim towards the shore. Out of this bay of gloom there’s another world. Climb the stairs of tomorrow. The bright sun you liked has never been away. It’s been inside you, the whole time. And there’s another one just outside this tainted window. It’s just a couple of tick tocks away. A tick tock of time and a tick tock of courage.

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